Sempiternity
by KaGoMeS-kId-TrEaSuRe
Summary: On a cold winter day, Sebastian finds someone he hasn't seen in a very long time. But are the risks worth the reward? Sebaciel.
1. Choices

**A.N. Dedicated to one of my best friends ever: ****Fatima, while I know this does't fix anything, I hope things are already starting to fall in place. I miss you lots and I'm so sorry that this is all I can do until I hop on a plane, get back to London, and give you a real hug! So for now, I hope you enjoy the story I started, and finished because of you ;) Et , je t'aime beaucoup, et je sais avec certitude que tu vais trouver ton amour très bientôt .**

**p.s. may contain vague TFiOS references.**

**Please read and review! Enjoy!**

**This will be a three shot, but bear with me for the next month or so while I try to figure out the plot. **

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><p>When the dryness of winter fell on the country, I found myself echoing moments of the past. It happened infrequently, hardly enough to cause concern, yet curious enough to raise suspicion amongst other demons. After all, did <em>their<em> memories recall more than just the exquisite taste of a soul? Did they often find themselves on the abandoned grounds of a past they should have dissociated from?

_Never_.

I drifted along from setting to setting, evaporating from, and reintegrating in familiar spaces I was never drawn to. Only on the grounds where no souls wandered did nostalgia hit me like cargo trains collided, or a hunger desperate to be acknowledged. For, while the world forgot, I was still bombarded with whisperings of a voice that disappeared ages ago. I was increasingly aware of the things these ruins held. Memories, still fresh to me, intermittently prodded at the back of my mind like a child's tantrum for sweets. Certainly they were simple enough to ignore, but that did not make them any _less_ irritating.

There was a time this place catered to the smell of the most exorbitant chocolates, the strongest brewed teas, and opaline bottled essences from _Ed Pinaud, Guerlain_ and_ Lubin_. Merriment of servants used to bounce off the corridors, filling the mansion with a loud, incompetent ruckus. For years a thicket of white roses boarded the garden. Their massive petals bloomed annually, to the delight of guests. But after centuries neglected and deprived of life, the non existent halls only imprisoned traces of their laughter. It only encompassed the lethargy of the numbered days that passed since the clock stopped for me.

Many feared the infamous Phantomhive estate. Known as the cursed manor where few ever visited, and even fewer returned, they demolished it decades ago. Machines tore the building down, and I lifted no finger to stop them. What reason would I have to defend a hallow casing, a shell of a memory I should have put to rest? The better, I thought. It reeked of unpleasant tidings. Now under thriving ivy, the mansion was enshrouded by tall, miscellaneous trees, and the groundwork crumbled as irreparable dreams were harshly brought to light, and dragged into reality.

_My, my...What have we here? _What valiant person dared visit a place haunted by a demon?

Spotting the presence, I skulked the bend. A young man stood at the foot of what was once the entrance to the grand mansion. He possessed a desirable soul I long yearned for. With great anticipation, I dissipated into the shadows and used the wind to draw closer in.

Just as I did so, he shifted his feet before me, and brought his hand to his right eye.

Suddenly, the back of my left hand scorched in a way it did millenniums ago. Retracting my arm, I examined it. There was no glowing insignia, no etched lines that sealed me to another. It was merely another hallucination. The ache however, was unmistakably real, and I inspected the peculiar being before me.

Beneath his thick, coal parka, I could see the delicate lining of his back. His denim pants were sleek and straight cut, sitting loosely around his slender waist. A belt held it together, stopping them from falling down completely. Black gloves covered his shivering hands which were gently tucked into the pockets of his jacket. His hair was trimmed short, and although it appeared a deep gray, it reflected shades of blue in the sunlight. Goosebumps formed on the nape of his neck, but he refused to pull his hood up, or button his jacket: exposing his delicate skin to the frigid temperatures.

There was no need to see his face to know his beauty. His gathered charm screamed features of human perfection. And as I truly laid eyes on him, I thought him a figment of my imagination when I noted how much he resembled _him_. He took no notice of me while I watched him in the shade of the surrounding forest, my eyes dubiously tracing every inch of his figure. Was I so bored, so _desperate_ for something remotely entertaining as to conjure something _this_ preposterous? No. My imagination was never as rewarding as the detailed effigy in front of me. Though I knew he could not be the same person, the moment my hand burned, I knew who he had to be.

_It's_...

Even now, I could not bring myself to say his name. He was the little one who often crossed my thoughts, whose orders were a pleasure obeying. His eyes sought me when I formed a new servitude, following me in an endless critic, and mocking me in my choice of a master. He confined me to this cage.

While his name may have changed, and his appearance varied slightly, I would not mistake him for anyone else. It was him. It was _really_ him. He is the one I lost all those years ago.

Of all the contracts, his was the most binding. Like blackbirds we sang to each other, through playful exchanges and snarky remarks that hid the nature of our agreement. The longer I was beside him, the more alike our tunes became. We sang to the beat of the only song we knew, until our melodies unified, and I could not differentiate where _I _ended, or where _he_ began. The contract that started off as nothing but a farce, ended. Our voices ran out, and the entity I was ceased to exist. I was not just a demon. I was _his_.

Bordering our sixth year together, the young master's chain reaction of sneezes alerted me of a discrepancy to his health. He insisted he was well enough to continue with our schedule. I did not oppose him. Winter was shifting to the unpredictability of spring, and it wasn't unusual for him to suffer from allergies or the occasional sniffles. As the day progressed, however, his sneezes turned into a wet cough. His appetite vanished completely. Even when I brought him a bowl of his favourite soup, he took no morsel of it. By the time I drew him a bath, his skin was singeing, and I immediately put him to bed.

He refused to see a doctor. Experience made him wary of them, and I did not blame him in the least. He floated in and out of sleep, and I tended to him whenever a coughing fit jolted him from his restless state. While only liquids passed his mouth, he could not stomach them, and they were always disgorged. The yellow-green of his phlegm began mixing with splatters of crimson, and I knew his situation was more dire than he was ready to admit. Blood stained the corners of his mouth, formulating an array of blotches on his casings. So, in the early recesses of dawn, I brought someone in.

The doctor took his temperature, and among various things, listened to the rasp of his chest. It did not take him long to decide his diagnosis. He turned to me, only an arm's length away from the master's bed.

"_Pneumonia_. With further agitation from his asthma. I regret to inform you but..." _No such cure exists_. The boy's wheezing drew my attention back to him. His eyes flashed in knowing, lapis lazuli saucers streaked with well known vermillion edges, meeting mine. I saw the unnatural rose of his flushed skin. His pink lips were tainted with revolting sangria splotches. I knew I could not fix him. It was beyond my control.

Even demons had their limitations. By nightfall he was paralyzed, skin sweltering, and colour drained from his face. I fluffed his pillows and elevated his head, making it easier for him to breathe. The mucus, however, continued building in places it should never be. Eventually his lungs would drown in the liquid, and the boy would be no more.

He was _suffering_. I stayed by his side until the very end. His placid mask vanished, replaced with a hint of fear. However, he was not afraid because he was dying-no, the boy never feared his death-but because he was doing so without completing _his_ end of the bargain. He fretted breaking the greatest thing that bound us together.

As I blotted his sweat away, he lifted his sickly hand to mine and stopped me. He was too ill to speak, but his strained eyes told me what he was thinking. This was not how he wanted to end. His helpless state repulsed him, another indication of his humiliation. He did not come back to die of a natural cause, with vengeance so intangible he hadn't yet conceived it.

When a particular coughing spell proved too painful, he urged me beseechingly. So, submitting to his final orders, I ended it.

The boy did not struggle. Instead, he held my gaze, eyes softening when my hands clamped tighter around his neck. Flashing a brief, but genuine smile, his lashes fluttered shut, falling asleep for eternity.

That was it. In that moment, our agreement was nulled. The insignia dominating my left hand lifted, disappearing along with his future. I killed the boy before he carried out his revenge, and violated my end of the covenant. Because of that, I forfeited my right to consume his soul. After all, demons prided themselves on their aesthetics, and it went against them to steal something I did not earn.

When the reapers came to collect his soul, they deemed it unremarkable. Mistakenly, of course, for the child was anything but. I waited with the corpse to fulfill his last request. His order was to see him to the very end, and while the mark was gone and I was not fettered by this demand, I was compelled to play my role to its final act. Besides, what kind of butler would I be, if I did not stay with my master to view his cinematic record, or see how well I marred his soul with despair? What did I expect to find, but the secrets he wanted to show me?

His memories attacked me, strangling me in a chokehold. Frames consisting of my face in every imaginable angle wrapped around my torso, my ankles, and wrists: hindering my movement. Each scene consisted of intimate moments involving us, moments I _too,_ questioned. Although no part of me was human, they suffocated me with their persistent images, attacking my senses with illogical conclusions. I inhabited the majority of the screen, even prevailing over his parents'. His feelings struck me in every direction, pouring into me as the final memory played.

Immediately after they faded to black, the reapers cut it, freeing me from their hold. Mixed with the master's pain and relief, was an unidentifiable emotion, one that overwhelmed me with its sudden existence.

How amusing indeed. In all my years of living, I hadn't been caught off guard as much as I have today. Even when he was gone, the boy found a way to entertain me. I was right to serve him, for he certainly exceeded my expectations.

_He loved me_.

. . .

It was a while until I made another contract.

**_What is your name?_**

I suppress the one I have grown attached to. My master is dead. Likewise, the being I was, is also dead. I was no longer a demon butler, nor did the name he gave me, belong to me. But in truth, I still was. In essence, I always will be.

_"__Sebastian," _I whisper the lie. I am not him. This I am sure of as I repeat myself. That part has gone away with the little one I murdered. I was finally set free, and yet...

_"__Sebastian Michaelis."_

...somehow, still captive within this cage, still tied by the bonds that held us together.

At first, I used the name and shape as a tribute to my previous master. But after all these years, it has become an unbreakable force of habit. No, I am certainly not the _same_ devil who created that contract. This much is true. However, I have become attached to this name and form, and one may be so kind to presume that I have grown into my previous character.

Colourless centuries fleeted past me, each day as uninteresting as the last. I waited for a soul that could match _his_ quality, but each new master turned out to be just as disappointing. None were able to satiate me. In the days of monochrome, the passage of time came to a standstill. For nothing came of the hours wasted, and the insipidity of countless sunsets were not only a nuisance, but also a relentless reminder of the centuries left in purgation. In the blink of an eye, generations upon generations of human modification shaped the world around me, but I remained constant.

Only when I first revisited the grounds of the ancient manor did I realize that time affected the unaffected. Something changed within me over the course of the small segment of infinity. At first I thought that my obsession sprang from not devouring his soul, but it went beyond that.

To begin with, I did not kill him because of his order, but out of mercy. Nothing in our contract stated I _couldn't_ watch him suffer needlessly. My actions did not benefit anyone except _him_. I spared him from his misery. I showed him _mercy_. Demons are never so generous.

I missed the one who freed me from monotony. Why else would I attempt to provoke the same promise with my new masters? It was unnecessary. I wanted to meet with the soul I have long lost, the one who changed me. And here he is. The boy standing over there is _Ciel_, and he is so close to me that I can almost touch him. I was inexplicably drawn to his soul, so enthralled by his very presence that I hadn't moved at all. Yet there is nothing I could do about it. It will only end in my misery when he grows old and we part. When he is six feet into the ground, rotting under a pile of dirt, I will be the one who is left to miss him for eternity.

I have waited and waited. I have lived many empty human lives searching for him. How can I deal with the inevitable fate of separation, or the fact that I may only be with him in _this_ life? Would it not be easier to laugh him off as a mere figment of my imagination? Shouldn't I carry on, and turn my back on him forever?

Suddenly the boy turned around. Sangria met with the same cerulean I dearly missed. His eyes widened, taken aback by my sudden presence. If I don't say anything now, it may be the last chance I have.

Oh, how foolish of me. I had my answer all along. If a prophet told me my future, and warned me of the turmoil I will be put through for meeting him, it would not change a thing.

Between a world stripped of anything spectacular, and one of unending torment, I will _always_ choose him.


	2. Again

Chapter two: Again

"Do I know you?"

The thought slipped passed his blushing lips and spilled into the atmosphere like gasoline. He blinked away his temporary surprise, caught off guard by his own curiosity. Ready to ignite at any given moment, his voice danced gracefully between the silence: a prelude to the fire that fueled every unanswered question.

An indefinite amount of worry nestled between his eyebrows, as if I was cause for distraught. I followed his dulled, azure eyes, scrutinizing my face in slight disbelief. The mass blue of sky erupted in a flurry of snowflakes. Though they came without warning, I would not be distracted by their sudden appearance. A particularly daring one landed perfectly atop his head, hanging dangerously off his locks before swiftly melting away from his heat. His breath fanned across his face. I watched, mesmerized, when the fog dissolved, to see what had been denied from me in this life.

"What do you think you're doing here, little one?"

Whatever concern that befell him was replaced with relief. The young man glared at me, huffing when I called him 'little one'. I suppose that was offensive, since he wasn't so _little _anymore. In comparison to my child master, he stood nearly a foot taller, a few years older. While holding their impeccable cherubim prominence, his features were sharper. The lines on his sculpted jaw were noticeably wider. Though delicate in many attributes, his body had a leanness to it that commanded the attention of all. When he spoke, the uncertain rasp in his youthful voice melted into a soft tenor that compelled me to my spot. Yet I was still undiscerning. How was it possible that I stumbled on the same creature I was transfixed by all those years ago?

"I could ask you the same thing. I own this place, and you, sir, are trespassing."

"You managed to sound convincing, but I am well acquainted with the true owner of these grounds, and you are certainly not _him_. Which only means that _you_ are the trespasser," I flashed him a polite smile. His ears perked when I mentioned the owner, but he did not falter. He kept his calm, though his scent was riddled with mortification. This one was not used to getting caught in a lie.

"You must be mistaken," he insisted, "I own this land." It was a proud declaration I hadn't heard in ages. If there was doubt before, it was unquestionable now. The way he emphasized his words was the same proud way the little lord did.

He stood in contemplation of his next move as snow began piling into his hood. The longer he stayed, shivering in the cold, the rosier his cheeks became. If he remained exposed to this kind of weather, the more susceptible he would be to catching another illness. What was he thinking, coming here without so much as thinking about his health? In fact, what were his reasons for being in such a place?

The quiet grumble of his stomach interrupted my internal scolding. Where was he staying? Was he getting a sufficient amount of food? Obviously not, according to his shameless stomach.

"Are you cold? Hungry? If you'd like, we can discuss this over a warm meal."

"Don't be ridiculous. What makes you think I'd be willing to follow a stranger?"

"A stranger?" I found myself scoffing at the absurdity. He must know that I have never been a stranger to him. Surely he is aware of _something_, if he managed to find himself here.

"Just...who are you?"

"I've had many names in the past, but I prefer to be called Sebastian," I said, inching closer. There was a sudden shift of feet as he stared at me, mouth slightly agape. It was the name he was wishing to hear, but never truly expected. It was enough, at least, to briefly fuel the fire in his extinguished eyes.

He did not flinch. Even when I was a fraction of a hair away, he did not cower in fear. But I knew. Oh, I could feel it. Flowing through his veins were a series of conflicting emotions. His instincts screamed at the unnatural entity before him. They warned him to turn back, to run to the world he was currently a part of. That piece of him was acutely aware of the danger, and yet he refused to listen. There was another piece of him, a very foolish one, that overthrew those senses. They begged him to come closer. They pleaded to be with me.

"And you? What do you call yourself?"

I felt his hesitation. Perhaps he knew the utterance of the name would result in a change. That, if he were to say the name he's grasping on to so tightly, locking behind his pursed lips, he may keep everything he has come to accept. He shuffled back, distancing himself from me. There was still a chance to go back to that life. He need only state a different name, turn around, and never come back.

"Ciel," he breathed the name I could never bring myself to speak. In the distance, was the toll of an old church clock. He looked in the direction of the chimes that rang through the air, and counted the hour.

"I should go," he said ducking his head into his popped collar. Before I could coax him to stay, before I could even say his name, he turned around and marched in the opposite direction. I watched him, bewitched by his poise, and did nothing to stop him. For, if I knew the him as well as I thought, he would come back on his own accord.

When I was far enough from earshot, he stopped.

"Will I... see you again?" he demanded without looking back.

"Of course," I replied, not daring to look away, "whenever you wish to see me, I will always be there."

. . .

"Welcome back. Something told me you wouldn't stay away for long."

It had only been a few hours since our last encounter. The sun rose merely hours ago, and while morning had yet to begin, the young man had already found his way here.

I hadn't gone far away from the ruins of the old mansion. I couldn't risk missing an early visit from him, and so I found a comfortable spot on the branches of a tree, and waited. The night came, and went, faster than any I had come across before. There was something different about that evening that made me eager for day to come. While I was fully conscious, and demons _do not_ sleep, there was something lucid in the air that made the world feel _dreamlike_. His presence was nothing short of astounding, and awaiting his return was enough to bide my time.

He looked as if he too, hadn't slept all night. His hair was ruffled, and dark circles were pressed under his eyes. He was wearing the same coal parka, finally zipped up, with the addition of a plain woolen scarf. At least he tried to dress more appropriately this time.

"Care for some breakfast?"

He thought about it, and nodded.

I took him to a café down the street that seemed suitable enough for him. I ordered him a mug of Earl Grey and eggs Benedict, and a bottle of water for myself. If I was to be in the human world, I might as well pretend to be one.

When I sat down, he had removed his coat and scarf, and was eyeing the meal until I put it in front of him. He began eating slowly, paying more attention to the eggs than the one watching him.

He was, despite the physical changes, exactly like the master. The cold way he ate as if I wasn't really there, the way, no matter how hard he tried, something always ended up smeared on the corner of his mouth, or his appetite for bitter teas were all the same. There were little tidbits of himself which were still present in this new form of his.

"I am surprised you agreed this time."

"I figured if you wanted to kill me, you would have done so already," he smirked and ate his bread in peace.

"Tell me about yourself, Sebastian," he said as he finished up the last of his tea.

"I'm afraid this talk will not do well in here," I flashed my eyes crimson for only him to see, and his eyes widened with intrigue. He knew just what I was without having to say it.

We made our way out of the café, and roamed the tired streets of London. For the most part, we marched, side by side for hours, in comfortable silence. It was just as it was before. He walked slightly ahead of me, our strides near matching, as we dipped in each others' presence. When I could tell his feet were sore, and he was no longer enjoying our walk, I brought him to the nearest park.

Facing a small lake, and hidden from the paths of strolling couples, was a bench which I sat down on. He gladly sat with me.

"You are not from here, are you?" I asked. Although I did not diligently search for him too far out of London, I would have felt his presence if he were anywhere near this area. So, how was he able to escape my detection? Where has he been hiding all this time?

"Yes, I was born in Plymouth, but I grew up in a little city in France." If he was surprised by the question, he did not show it. It's no wonder, then. I stayed in England thinking if he were to return as anything but himself, he would come here. I was right, in a way. He was here, after all. But how many times had he returned without my knowledge? How many times have I missed my chance to be with this precious soul?

"What brings you here, then?" He shoved his gloved hands into his pocket, and stared at the sky before answering.

"I wasn't lying, you know. That place does belong to me. My parents they...it was really under their name, but now it belongs to me. I am a Phantomhive."

"How are you related to them?" That's impossible, _he_ didn't have any...

"I never inherited the name, but I am a descendant of one Edward Midford, whose mother was a Phantomhive before her marriage. My great grandmother was part Midford, and in my blood I carry the same pedigree, though much less. I am still a Phantomhive, nonetheless."

I see. So _that_ was why he was the spitting image of the little earl.

"But Ciel is not, in fact, your real name?" I questioned.

"My real name doesn't matter, Sebastian. _You_ out of all people should know that. A name is something given to you by someone who has never met you before. Strangers. Is it not more important, what I know myself to be?"

He was right, in a sense. Humans prided themselves on the names they received, and would strive to fill those names as they grew. But a name is nothing more than you believe it to be. They were created to differentiate one another, to boast of the accomplishments within their lineage-things they have not achieved, but accept praise for. They meant nothing to me, until recently. After all, my name was also chosen for me under similar circumstances. What I am now has very much to do with the fact I was ghosting a name that didn't belong to me anymore.

"Then you are, I presume, truly the reincarnation of the one Ciel Phantomhive?"

His gaze dropped, wistfully scanning the iced over lake.

"It's my understanding that reincarnation means I am somehow a different person from my predecessor. My soul, as I believe it is, has been reborn into a new body, that much is true. Aside from that fact, there is no difference between the me now, and the me before. I am, however, here. Our thoughts are the same, our memories, mostly. We are simply separated by a thousand years. Though it seems odd to everyone else, I have never considered myself anyone _but_ Ciel Phantomhive."

The boy sitting beside me has a set of memories that aligned with the young master. He carried a soul identical to the young master. Then he _must_ know-

"It's getting cold," I remarked, watching him tremble slightly. "Is there a place you would like me to take you?'

He stood up without a word, only nodding at me to follow. I met with his pace, and he led me to the hotel he was staying at.

Upon entering his room I was immediately intoxicated by his scent. Although he hadn't inhabited it for long, it was enough to enveloped me. It was a fairly spacious place with sparse furniture. A queen sized bed dominated the farthest end, and a large television was displayed promptly in front of it, standing on a mahogany dresser.

"I used to have dreams," he said over his shoulder, as he kicked off his winter clothing and made way to the kitchen to warm up some water. I sat down at a petit glass table in the middle of his room and he joined me.

"At least, I used to think they were, since they first came to me while I slept," he continued slowly. "My whole life I've dreamt of being consumed by an unrelenting fire. I'd see an old mansion burning to the ground over and over again, I'd feel the heat on my skin as if I were melting with it."

He stood up to stop the now crying teapot, and returned with two mugs of tea. I declined his offer, and he did not press me. He took a sip before continuing.

"I saw the faces of people I called my parents lying, dead on the ground. But they're not them. They're not the ones I have come to know," he chuckled darkly, staring at the liquid I determined was chamomile.

"But those weren't the worst ones. I've seen people in masks, forcing me to eat, dancing around me, taking their turns..." he cleared his throat and took another sip.

"My night terrors tore my parents apart. I'd constantly wake up screaming, and they'd have to comfort me until I fell asleep again. They worried about me, always paranoid at the little things that might set me off...always watching me to make sure I was okay."

"But oddly enough, those weren't the dreams that stood out most to me. The ones that I recall the most, are always of a figure who's constant vigilance I was under. I saw his face, _your_ face," he stressed, "everywhere."

He paused again before saying, "I told my parents about that man. They told me they were only dreams and '_dreams cannot hurt you_'. But I knew he wasn't there to hurt me. At least, it seemed more like he was there protecting me. They didn't believe me when I insisted he must have been real. But I'd see him, I'd see you..."

Suddenly, he was staring right at me, voice filled with wonder.

"Those weren't just dreams, were they? They were... things that really happened. They are memories from my other life, when I was born a Phantomhive. No one believed me, no one understood why I never answered to my name, but it's only because I wasn't who they thought I was."

"Last month, I lost both my parents...and I found...I found _you_. There was a photograph of us, in that old life, in that torn down mansion. I looked it up, found the deeds to the estate, and I came here. I have known you, Sebastian, for my entire life. There is no way I could mistake you for someone else, this much I'm sure of. But see, even though I remember most things, I don't remember everything. I know you are not of this world, I know we made some sort of contract, but I don't recall what the nature of our relationship was. For the life of me, I don't understand those memories. But I can't shake off the feeling that..." a blush crept onto his face when he caught himself droning.

I was satisfied that he remembered even a little bit of me, but angry that he didn't recall it all. How could he forget the feelings he forged upon me? I have not spent a night without a single thought of him, and yet he... _Humans were such blissful creatures._

"Why is it I remember everything, but I can't piece together everything about you?"

He fell silent, waiting for my reply. I wasn't sure what answer I could give him to thoroughly explain the life we shared together.

"You were my master, once."

"And you were my butler. But was that all? That can't be. Did you at least, love me like a son?"

I shook my head, no.

"We made a contract. You sold your soul for revenge. Except, after years of working for you, you became too ill to continue our pursuit. I killed you. You died before either of us fulfilled the bargain, and I suppose your soul went on its way."

He gulped down what remained of his tea, and gently stood up. Making his way to his suitcase, he took out a white t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms. Then, rather abruptly, he took off his shirt and replaced it with the other. I turned away, giving him some privacy though his lack of decency called for none.

"What? As if you haven't seen me undress before. _Really_," he teased.

Anger suddenly filled me, and I lunged at him. Immediately, one hand found the base of his throat, pinning him to the wall, while the other held his face in place, squeezing his cheeks to cease his goading. It did enough to silence him, as he waited for me to speak again.

"Do not tempt me. Never forget that I am a demon, little one, a free demon who is not bound to you. We have created no contract. I am not entitled to give you everything you wish. I am not entitled to do your bidding, nor can I promise you will be safe in my presence at all times. I am a demon. I do not have to remain as civil as I have been. Nothing is stopping me from killing you."

Except, I was distracted by the way his toes managed to touch the ground, and that his legs no longer dangled when I brought him to eye level. It was then that I noticed the thickness of his neck, and the fact that he came up to my nose when he was sanding upright. My, he's so grown! _How could I have missed it? _

When I broke from my frenzy, I saw him smiling at me, as if he were happy to meet with the demon.

"Now, don't be coy. You must have some inkling as to why you are still here."

"You didn't kill me before, Sebastian," he said, putting his hands overtop mine in attempt to calm me. I let him go and he landed on both feet, rubbing the marks left by my fingers.

"Perhaps I am here a second time to make sure you will not go back on your word again-"

"Wrong," I sneered, feeling the rage slipping back.

"You didn't take my soul when you had the chance. I remember. You used to go off about how much you wanted to devour every inch of it, yet when the time came and you were given the chance you did _nothing_. You lied. The only reason for that is because you loved me," he whispered, "then, and now. You love me."

"And you? The reason you stayed though you are fully aware I am a demonic being?"

He smirked playfully, as he sat on his bed to finish changing. "Because the me before loved you too."

"Before? That is to say, you do not love me now?"

"I may have known of you for my entire life, but I still know nothing about you. The you within my dreams, was never a human being. You were always, always something that continued to play a role. That? What you just did there was your true nature, not whatever façade you put on for me."

"I was more true to you than I ever was to anyone else," I assured, placing a hand over my heart and bowing slightly as I did.

"I find that hard to believe."

"I do not tell lies, my little one. Not to you. Not ever, and not now."

He stood up, filling the space between us. He lifted a hand, and delicately forced me to look at him. I felt tingling in my cheek where his fingers traced me. Nothing was spoken for a while, as he continued staring at me.

"Why did you come here?" I found myself asking. He could have lived the rest of his life unburdened by me.

"You've been grieving all this time, haven't you?" His eyes burned with pity as he looked at me, his face drawing closer to mine.

"That's why you were at the mansion yesterday...Well, I am here now, Sebastian. I am here, and we finally have the chance to finish what we started. Tonight, you may devour me if you please. And when you're through, you can finally go on."

"I will never be through with you," I growled lowly, pressing our foreheads together.

"I'd hope not," he grinned impishly, wrapping his arms around my neck before pulling me in to taste his lips. I met with his fervent kiss, my mouth moving with his as he poured into me every emotion withheld in the past. His kiss, inexperienced and delightful in every aspect, was one I had never felt before. The urgency between each breath drove me mad with bliss, pervading my thoughts with his sweetness, and causing a strange sensation to boil in my chest.

When he couldn't breathe anymore, he let me go to catch his breath. Then, pushing off of me, he strolled to the light switch and flicked off the lights. Once again walking past me, he went straight to the bed, pulled down the covers, and slipped under them.

"Stay with me? At least until I fall asleep," he demanded, lying down and rolling to his side to expose his back. I swiftly positioned myself at the foot of his bed. But just as I stood there, he propped himself onto his elbows, and grinned sheepishly at me. With a short, disapproving tut of his tongue, and a shake of his head, he patted the empty side of the mattress, and opened his arms to invite me in.

I laughed at his forwardness before throwing myself onto the bed, wrapping my arms around him, and holding him. That night, I found myself falling into a rare state of common stupor, in a peaceful sleep that had never came before. For what more could I ever ask, when I had him with me again?

* * *

><p><strong>A.N. Because today is their anniversary and I had to to something about it. <strong>

**Thank you for waiting oh so patiently! I'm very sorry it took so long. After a while of trying to tweak the plot, I think I have it mostly figured out. I should be back with the last and final chapter in about a month, after all my exams and junk. **

**As always, thank you for the reviews/favourites! You guys are awesome!**


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